


That Band AU

by kkingofthebeach, littleheavens (orphan_account), nwtons, silverjewelkitten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkingofthebeach/pseuds/kkingofthebeach, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/littleheavens, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwtons/pseuds/nwtons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverjewelkitten/pseuds/silverjewelkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Cas, Benny and Victor are in an up and coming rock band. This is the story of its progression.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Transferal of these pieces from tumblr to AO3. Not in chronological order and written by different authors, and there will be some fan art to accompany the general idea of the AU. There are smaller, less fan fiction-like posts about this 'verse in [this](http://tumblr.com/tagged/that-band-au) tag on tumblr. Will be updated whenever someone decides to write another installation.

The flyer reads simply that a male singer is needed and that applicants should go to a certain address, and not that Castiel is a stalker or anything, (well maybe a tiny bit) but he realizes that the address is to none other than the home of Dean Winchester, the mid-twenties mechanic he’s had a crush on since tenth grade.

Castiel’s never been much of a singer if he’s being honest, but he’s been told that he has natural skill for it and if he ever pursued it he would probably do well for himself, not that he puts much stock in those sorts of things.

With a conflicted heart he yanks the poster off of the wall of the youth center and stuffs it in his satchel, fully intending to not look at again.

And yet, when he gets home that afternoon, having already forgotten about it he finds it in his bag and sighs out loud. He means to crumple it up and throw it in the garbage, what would Dean want with him anyway? He’s much too boring to join a rock band.

Besides, how would he even audition? He doesn’t know many songs, and definitely none that Dean would enjoy, not to mention his band-mates who are bigger than Cas is used to and unreasonably scary.

All signs point to throwing the flyer in the trash can and going about his days in blissful ignorance of all the things that could happen if he goes to the audition tomorrow, but there’s a stubborn niggle in the back of his head that tells him to go for it, to walk over to the brick house three streets over and knock on the door.

He can’t really say he’s surprised which side of his mind wins.

He’s there bright and early, ten o’clock sharp just like the poster said, but it takes him at least five minutes dawdling on the sidewalk before he summons the courage to walk up the driveway and rap his knuckles on the front door.

Castiel hears shuffling from inside the house and then the door is being swung open, an obviously hung-over Dean gaping at him from around the frame. “I’m here for the audition?” Castiel says simply before he loses his nerve and walks away. He’s reddening in the face under Dean’s scrutiny and he fiddles with the hem of his sweater.

“Uh, yeah, come on in.” Dean mutters, stepping aside and letting Castiel pass through the threshold into his home. “Hey,” he starts, looking at Cas like he’s confused, “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Cas smiles widely when he looks back at Dean, “ _You remember me_.” It’s said so softly, with such reverence that Dean balks at him and he plows forward, “I was in your Chemistry class.” recognition lights behind Dean’s eyes and he grins.

“Yeah, I remember you, you sat right at the front. Castiel, right?” He smiles warmly back at Dean, happy to have made at least a small mark on Dean’s memory.

“Yes, and you’re Dean Winchester.” Dean smirks at him then, a hand sheepishly running through his hair. 

“The one and only.” He ushers Castiel through the house and down some stairs into the basement where Benny and Victor are lounging on a crummy old couch that looks like it’s been through a war zone, foam sticking out in places and yellow discoloration from age.

“Hello.” Cas says, giving a sort of subservient lowering of his head, not quite a bow but a show of respect nonetheless.  Benny and Victor grunt at him in response. 

“This is Cas,” Dean starts, “He’s here to audition.” They actually look up at him this time, intrigued.

“I didn’t think anyone would actually show up.” Victor says and Benny nods in his general direction. Cas walks over to the tangled mess of wires and instruments in the corner and positions himself directly in their line of sight.

“Well,” Benny croaks out, rubbing his eyes, “Show us what you’ve got, kid.” Castiel isn’t a kid, but all of the burly man’s eyes tell him he isn’t being unkind, so he lets it slide. He fumbles around in his mind for something to sing, having only practiced a little before heading over because he was nervous.

All he really knows are church songs and he’s blanking, he knows that it’s probably been longer than he should really be making them wait-and then he remembers, the one song his brother always sang, the only old rock song he ever cared to learn, and he did it just to make him happy.

He opens his mouth, and he sees out of the corner of his eyes Dean picks up his guitar, prepared to play whatever he’s going to sing. “Can you play Stairway to Heaven?” He asks, voice stumbling out of him in a rush. 

Dean shows all of his teeth when he smiles this time and it looks almost predatory. “Hell yeah I can.” 

Needless to say, Castiel joins the band that morning, Dean grinning at him in stunned silence afterwards.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It's all a game.

It's a very risky, extremely hot game that they love to play.

The first time was just Dean flirting with Cas, trying to bring him out of his shell on stage and cop a cheap feel. That had just been Dean being selfish, wanting an excuse to rub up on Cas without having to explain that he thinks he's fucking gorgeous and perfect. But then Cas had gone with it, he'd let Dean get too close and slot their bodies together, and his vocals never once faltered.

But now, now it's so much more. The dynamic is different, and this is a game of chicken between two guys that go at it like rabbits when they're offstage. It's a test to see who can last the longest before pulling away, who will mess up first, who will let slip a moan that can't blend into the song. It's teasing and delicious and nobody else has a clue.

The crowd go wild for it - girls watching with wide eyes and open mouths as they move together, hips rolling and dipping and cocks hardening within the confines of tight jeans. Benny and Victor, well they just think the two of them are putting on a good show, rousing the fans and going for it, because there's nothing better than a band with chemistry.

It's almost a ritual. It will happen at every show, but nobody knows when exactly, because contrary to popular belief it is anything but a staged act. What really happens is that Cas keeps looking at Dean when they're playing, he's singing to him, biting his bottom lip and taking him in from top to bottom. His eyes flitting from the audience to Dean, filthy things flying out of his mouth because they write some of their songs now, and boy are they dirty. Maybe not explicitly so, but the subtext is so clear that it'll knock you on your ass. It's worse than the time they covered Pour Some Sugar On Me, and Cas was adding in all these throaty groans and rubbing his hand over his stomach, pushing his shirt up enough to display the jut of his hipbones and the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans.

But Dean wrote these lyrics; he sat up one night and turned all his sweaty fantasies into crude poetry with a heavy guitar riff. He taught these words to Cas with a guitar balanced in his lap and a sated smile on his lips, clothes on the floor and dirty sheets hanging off the bed. And now Cas is on a stage singing the words back again, a wicked glint in his eye as he turns back to Dean. And that's clearly an invitation.

Cas has no idea what he does to people when he's performing, and it only serves to make it so much worse. There nothing quite like watching Cas with both hands curled around a microphone, his mouth so close that his lips brush against it. His hair is damp and floppy, falling into his eyes and dishevelled from being occasionally pushed back. This is Dean's life; watching Cas rise on his tiptoes when he hits a high note, bending over in ripped jeans when he has to hold it. Dean won't even deny the fantasies he's had since Cas joined the band and they started playing shows, before anything began between the two of them, but they all involved Cas' mouth around his cock.

Apparently he's still fond of those fantasies though, because watching Cas becomes a little too much for Dean. So he waits until he knows Cas is looking his way, and grinds a little into the back of his guitar. It's nothing huge and will probably go unnoticed, but Cas' eyes widen when he realises what's happening. And just the fact that Cas visibly reacts is perfect; it has heat pooling in Dean's belly and he's pushes harder against his guitar, trying to get some pressure on his half-hard dick. Cas isn't watching anymore, but Dean knows that he's still in his eye-line by the little falter in his voice.

Dean takes a few steps forward; waits for Cas take a few back, before they repeat.

They're close, Dean's fingers still push at guitar strings, and Cas is still gripping onto the mic stand and has it pointing between both of their mouths. Dean waits for a lull in the song and swings his guitar to hang around his back. And that's his cue to slot their bodies together, to start torturing Cas, grinding against him with deliberate rolls and hard thrusts. He doesn't have to wait long before he can feel the hard line of Cas' cock rubbing against his thigh, lessened only by the constricts of the skinny jeans Dean told him to buy. This is the decider of how he'll treat Cas tonight, if he's a good boy Dean will fuck him slow and thorough and take his time to get Cas trembling and out of his mind. But if Cas screws up, if he let's slip a shaky breath that's too loud or he moans in the middle of a line, then Dean gets to punish him for it. Not that Cas has any qualms about it, because Dean will only treat him rough and fuck him hard and fast into the sheets, couch, or carpet, face down and ass up.

It looks like it's heading that way tonight too, because Cas' knuckles are turning white as he grips the microphone tighter in his hand, stifling the sounds he desperately wants to make. But it's not enough; his pitch wavers and gives way to a heavy exhale of breath, then a few seconds later another moan. Cas' cheeks are pink and his hair is curling at his neck from sweat, and as much as Dean would love to see Cas lose his shit and orgasm on stage, he doesn't think they should risk it. So he lets Cas go and they get on with the show like nothing has happened. He pulls his guitar back around, and unlike Cas he can hide his boner beneath it, and they end the song with a clash of chords.

But what Dean finds the most endearing out of all of this, is that Cas is looking down sheepishly and is completely flustered, not showing off to the crowd and making some lewd remark about what just happened. He's so genuinely embarrassed that Dean just wants to pull him into a hug and kiss his burning cheeks - possibly only after screwing him in the bathroom first though.


	3. Chapter 3

"I am not wearing those," Cas says as he stares at the leather pants in Dean's hands. 

"Aw come on," Dean whines, and Cas will be damned if he'll give in to that pout. "All the best rockstars wear them!" 

"Yeah, maybe  _thirty_  years ago!" 

Dean rolls his eyes and thrusts the pants at Cas, who knows that there's no way in hell he's gonna win this one. Dean has already dragged him to three other stores to buy a new wardrobe; and if Dean wants Cas in skinny leather pants, than he's probably going to get exactly that. 

"At least try them on," Dean pleads, and he sidles up to Cas to press a kiss just below his ear. "Baby, you'd look so good in them, I just wanna see." 

Cas turns it over in his mind, weighs up his options. He figures there can't be too many cons to this, because Dean seems pretty firm in thinking it'll be the best thing ever, and if he doesn't laugh when Cas wears a bow tie then it's unlikely that he'll laugh at this. The pros are very interesting indeed; there's always the chance that if Dean likes them enough Cas will actually buy them, then use them to get the most out of Dean's weird fetishes. It's not like it's a leather-clad gimp kind of thing - Cas knows that it just stems from Dean's idolisation of rockstars in the 70s and 80s - but next thing he knows he'll probably be trying on cowboy hats and chaps.  

"Okay," Cas sighs, and Dean blinks at him incredulously for a few seconds, as if he genuinely believed Cas would deny him something.  

Dean follows him to the fitting rooms and tries not to throw a bitch fit when Cas makes him wait outside the cubicle. Which, really, is actual torture - because Dean has to sit on a lumpy couch with mysterious stains while the sound of Cas unzipping his jeans fills the air. He’s probably doing it on purpose, Dean thinks; he probably knows full well that he'd never actually make it into the pants if Dean was there watching. 

It's a good thing at least  _one_  of them thinks with their brain and not their dick. 

There's more rustling and Dean can just about see Cas stepping into the pants, his only view being the gap underneath the door. He fidgets around on the couch impatiently, already formulating a vision of what Cas will look like when he swings that door open.  _God_ , Dean's ready to pop a boner just thinking about it.  

When the door does open and Cas emerges, Dean is acutely aware that it looks even better than the many fantasies this get-up has starred in. The leather hugs Cas'  _everything_ , sticking to his flesh like adhesive and showing every minute movement of muscle. Dean would very much like to pounce on Cas, but he can't help but pick out one tiny fault. 

"You need to take your underwear off," he says, all business-like and matter of fact. As if Cas' face wasn't flushed enough already, his cheeks heat up and go crimson, his eyes wide with bewilderment. 

"What?" He hisses, and Dean holds back a laugh, because Cas will let Dean fuck him senseless on a public bathroom sink but he won't go commando in a fitting room.  

"I'm not trying to get you naked - it just doesn't look right! The fabric’s all bunched up underneath."

Cas raises an eyebrow and scoffs - a degree of sass that he would never have shown a couple of months ago - and Dean is forced to believe that sex really has made Cas a cocky bastard. Albeit a cocky bastard who belongs to Dean, and so Cas disappears back into the fitting room. There's more rustling before it goes completely silent, and Dean can see Cas shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.  

"Uh, maybe you should come in here," Cas offers, and Dean doesn't need to be told twice. He jumps up and slips inside, making sure to lock the door behind him before turning to face Cas. 

"Holy shit," Dean breathes as he drinks it all in. Cas is standing in front of him with his lip caught between his teeth, looking anywhere but at Dean as his hands fall limply to his sides. Clearly Dean was wrong when he thought the leather couldn't cling any tighter to Cas' skin, because now the guy looks downright  _dirty_. He's wearing one of Dean's old t-shirts, something that's become a disgustingly cute habit of Cas', and it's just short enough to show a strip of inviting skin between its hem and the top of the pants - pants that are  _extremely_  low slung.  

They sit against Cas' hips and it would be downright sinful for them to be cut any lower. Dean can see a whole range of things on show: the jut of hipbones on each side, the V-shaped groove of his Apollo's belt, and the dark trail of hair that begins at his navel and disappears beneath the waistband. It should be classified as straight-up porn, what with the way Cas' package is perfectly framed, outlining the shape of his cock. 

Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. 

"They're too small." 

"They're supposed to be like that." 

" _Dean_ ," Cas whines, not knowing that the sound has Dean's blood instantly heading south. "They're way too tight." 

"They're perfect," Dean practically purrs, and he hooks his fingers into the waistband of the pants to pull Cas flush against his chest. "You look perfect." 

"What are you doing?" Cas asks when Dean nips at his jaw - as if he doesn't know already.

Dean smirks and tugs Cas a little closer, hands slipping down and around to cup his ass. "Showing my appreciation." He brings his mouth to Cas', stopping just a few millimetres away to share the same breath, until Cas finally parts his lips. "Good boy," Dean whispers, then he pushes forward and slides his tongue into Cas' mouth, kissing him slow and open until the stiffness has left his limbs and Cas is rocking up into Dean's body. Dean kisses him until his mouth is pink and swollen, pulling away to sink his teeth into Cas' bottom lip as his hands start to wander again. 

Cas' breath hitches when Dean's fingers come to rest at the front of his pants; only where there should be a button and fly, there's the crisscross of a laced-up opening. Dean knows that Cas will probably freak out if he gives him the chance, so Dean latches his mouth to Cas' neck to form a distraction, sucking and biting red marks into the skin. And while Cas is busy pushing his hands up Dean's shirt, he barely even notices Dean pulling at the laces until his pants are splayed open.

All Cas says is a shaky  _oh shit_  as Dean takes his cock out of his pants and gives it a few slow strokes. 

"We can't - not here - Dean we can't." Only Cas doesn't sound all that convinced, and Dean is already having too much fun to stop. He pushes Cas up against the wall and sinks down to his knees, grin only growing wider at the flash of terror in Cas' eyes. "We're going to get thrown out!" 

Dean yanks Cas' pants down to his knees and bites gently at the inside of his thigh. "Only if we get caught." 

Cas looks hesitant, but he nods anyway and places a hand on Dean's shoulder, fingers digging hard into the muscle already. Dean would love to take his time with this, have Cas slumped against the wall and shaking with drawn out anticipation, but he'll settle for blowing his brains out with a quickie. Dean wraps a hand around the base of Cas' cock and swipes the flat of his tongue against the slit, teasing mercilessly with long licks and just the press of his lips. 

"Please, Dean - please." 

Dean looks up at Cas, his eyes already dark and half closed, eyelashes casting shadows across his bright cheeks. And  _fuck_ , he does look like a rockstar: disheveled hair, bags under his eyes from too many late nights with Dean, a well-worn shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, leather pants pushed down as he gets sucked off. Cas really is living the life of a lead singer - granted, he's swapped the underage groupies for monogamous sex, but it's still fucking perfect. 

Dean seals his lips around the head of Cas' cock and sinks down, keeping his eyes locked with Cas' until his nose brushes his abdomen. Cas exhales a wobbly breath when Dean begins to move, sucking hard and taking him as deep as he can. Dean loves it, the heady taste of Cas' cock tinged with the slight bitterness of salt, the feeling of his tongue gliding against the vein on the underside, the soft little moans that Cas chokes out just because of Dean's mouth. It's as close to heaven he thinks he'll ever get, having Cas squirm under him in any and every way possible. 

Cas knows that Dean's not giving him everything yet, and he bucks up and pushes his cock further down Dean's throat. Cas lets out a rough groan, but it's cut off when Dean uses his forearm to pin Cas' hips back against the wall and pulls off of his cock, cold air hitting it. "Don't fucking move, sweetheart." 

Cas practically whimpers and gets enough brain cells working to stutter out a quick  _yeah, fuck, okay._  

"Fuck, Dean, please I just - I need you--" 

Dean doesn't waste another second and takes Cas into his mouth again, moaning at the stretch of his lips and the nudge at the back of his throat. He holds Cas down with both hands now, fingers pushing hard enough into his sides to leave bruises that'll last for days, reminders that Cas will admire in the mirror and flaunt with too-small t-shirts that ride up when he stretches. Dean sucks him down faster, and when Cas groans just a fraction too loud he stills, nails indenting marks into Cas' skin until he bites down on his fist to muffle the sound. 

Dean feels Cas' body tense up before he makes a guttural sound around his hand, and then he's spilling into Dean's mouth, trembling as Dean swallows it all down and pulls off with a filthy pop. Once Dean releases his hold on Cas, his legs give out entirely and Cas slinks to the ground, chest still heaving and his eyes closed. Dean smiles smugly to himself and crawls over to Cas, getting close enough to talk quietly into his ear.

"You definitely have to buy the pants now, don't you?"


	4. Chapter 4

It starts with an innocuous comment.

Benny is peering out through the curtains and out onto the stage, beyond it to the crowd crammed into a seedy bar in Nowhere, Minnesota. Vic is sitting on the backstage couch, lazily drinking a beer with his drumsticks between his fingers, twirling and falling over knuckles, being caught just in the nick of time. Cas, meanwhile, is pacing nervously, just like he does before every performance, and it never fails to make Dean think about how damn adorable Cas is. Dean is content to just lean against the wall and feel the thrum of the music from the act that’s on before them vibrating through his skin.

“Lot ot girls here tonight,” Benny notes, turning to face the others with a leer plastered on his face. “Should be good for after.”

Cas rolls his eyes, ever the good one among them, while Vic sits up and tries to see through the small gap.

“Oh, yeah?” Vic asks, standing up to move beside Benny and look out, too. “Damn, you’re right. College girls, from the looks of it. And they ain’t even all ugly!” Benny brings up to fingers and kisses the pads of them, follows it by pressing them against the dirty wall and looking up towards the sky. “Thank you, Jesus. Or Minnesota. I don’t even care.”

Dean chuckles, watching the way Benny and Vic are falling over themselves to get a glimpse of what waits outside. The two of them look like hungry fucking dogs, and it figures that they’re both horny as hell, because the band has been touring for near on a month now, and neither of them have gotten laid in that whole time.

It’s a lucky thing for Dean, that he’s got Cas.

Cas, who he’s known since high school. Sweet kid, fond of sweaters and books, quiet but not exactly unassuming. Dean had never really bothered to get to know the guy back when they were in school – too busy chasing after girls and fake ID to really give him a glance – but after they left, got to know each other, found out that Cas could sing and Dean could strum and the others wanted in on he ride, too, things have changed.

For one, Dean has gotten Cas to come on his cock every single night of the tour, thus far. He’s not looking to give up that pattern any time soon.

“Dean, seriously, come look at this,” Benny persuades, waving his hand in a gesture for Dean to join the two of them. “I feel like this is what I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”

Dean laughs again, tipping his head back and hearing the set outside finish up, knowing they’re gonna be out there, soon, kicking ass. He’s about to decline the offer, more interested in seeing if he can drag Cas away to the bathrooms for a last minute blowie – guy’s always more relaxed once he’s come down Dean’s throat – when Victor pipes up.

“Shut up, Benny, Dean’s not gonna come look. Cas is  _right there_.”

Dean frowns. Cas stops in his pacing, abruptly halting the quick movements of his feet, stilling his hands where they’d been wringing in front of his chest just moments before. Dean looks Cas over and frowns some more.

“Why would I care if Dean looked?” Cas asks, voice small, eyes downcast. “Dean can do whatever he wants. We’re not together.”

It’s true. They’ve never discussed anything, never even mentioned the word exclusive.

So why does Dean’s stomach feel so much heavier, all of a sudden?

Vic laughs, like he hasn’t noticed the tension in the room, and replies, “Yeah, whatever, dude. You two have been swapping jizz for months now, even before the tour. You telling me you really wouldn’t care if he picked someone else up?”

Cas bristles, furrow forming between his brow. Dean is caught in a state of just watching, just looking over every nuance of Cas’ body, every tilt of his head, seeing if he can’t find some kind of tell.

But, as always, Cas is a closed damn book. The only time Dean can ever tell what the guy’s thinking is when Dean’s got him face down on the sheets, legs spread and begging. That’s the only time Dean can ever take the little pleas of _Dean, please, Dean_  and know that Cas, in that moment, wants him.

“Not at all,” Cas protests, sounding vehement and outraged, like the idea of him having an actual  _connection_ , a fucking bond or anything like that, with Dean, would be entirely repulsive. Dean can already feel anger simmering under his skin, muscles twitching in his jaw. “Dean can fuck whoever he wants. And – and so can I. The only reason we’ve been sleeping together so much is because it’s convenient.” He pauses, lips pursed, determined look in his eye that he turns on Dean. “Right, Dean?”

Benny and Vic are looking on with dropped jaws. Cas just looks fucking defiant, like he’s proud of himself for staying unattached, like it’s a fucking  _victory_  for him.

Dean doesn’t know why he’s angry. He shouldn’t be angry. They’re not exclusive, they’re  _not_ , and this is just convenience. Sure, Dean likes Cas. He likes waking up with Cas bed hair tickling the underside of his chin, and he likes being able to bring burgers back to whatever crappy motel they’re staying in just to make Cas smile.

But that’s because they’re friends. Friends who really, really enjoy fucking. Dean has no right to be angry.

Except he is.

“Sure thing, Cas.” Dean sounds bitter, twisted, and Cas’ eyes widen a fraction, like he hadn’t expected it. “I mean, I’m easy, right? Willing to fuck and nearby. Can’t think of any other reason why you’d have anything to do with me.”

“Dean –” Vic interjects, but Dean waves him off with, still looking straight at Cas.

“No, no, it’s fine. Cas wouldn’t choose me, if he had options.” Cas looks startled, more than anything. Eyes wide and mouth parted, and,  _fuck_ , they’re announcing their band right now, they’re gonna have to go out on stage any second now. “I’m the same. Wouldn’t choose him if it weren’t so fucking  _convenient,_  as you so nicely put it, Cas. I mean, if I’d wanted him properly, I’d have had him back in high school, right?”

Cas looks crushed. Dean feels anything but remorse.

“We gotta go on now,” Benny mutters, like he hates the fact that he has to talk. “We should get on there, before the crowd starts yelling.”

Dean picks up his guitar and storms on without a word. He takes his place on stage, throws a cocky smirk to the crowd, practised and easy, and waits while the others trail their way out. They all take their set places, all ready for the show, and as Cas stands at the mic, lips hovering so close, he doesn’t look back to wink at Dean, like he normally does.

Dean shouldn’t feel angry, but he does. And the girls here tonight sure are pretty. 

—-

Their set goes fine. Not amazing, not like usual, but it’s good enough. The crowd are happy and cheering, singing along with the chorus when they can figure out the words that are coming, and they don’t know how it usually is, so they don’t know what to miss.

They don’t know that, every other performance, Dean and Cas put on a show. They don’t know that Cas will fit his ass against Dean’s crotch, that they’ll grind against one another while Cas doesn’t even pause in his singing to take note of it. They don’t know that it’s all a game, something fun, that just didn’t happen this time.

Backstage is cold when Dean gets back there with the rest of the band. He drops his guitar on the stand and gives the couch a glance, decides it’s not time to sit down. Instead, he turns to Vic and Benny with a grin.

“So, the girls?” he says, raising one eyebrow, tilting his head to the side door, where they can get through to the bar. “I saw a blonde in the back that kept giving me the eye, and I’m going for it.”

Benny and Victor frown in unison, arms crossed over their chests. Cas sits quietly on the couch, legs crossed up on the cushions, hands folded neatly in his lap. Dean looks between the three of them – Cas won’t meet his eye, Vic and Benny just look sad or disapproving or something else Dean doesn’t want to deal with – and rolls his eyes.

“Let’s just have a drink,” Benny suggests, and Dean doesn’t miss the way his eyes flicker to Cas.

Victor nods. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Dean scoffs, sending derisive looks to the both of them. “You do whatever you guys wanna do,” he says, grabbing his leather jacket from the wooden chair and shrugging it on. “But  _I’m_  going to get laid.”

He doesn’t wait for admonishment, or protestations, or Cas telling him it’s fine, naturally, before he leaves. He walks out into the bar and smells the smoke and the sweat in the air, sees the blonde he’s interested in by the bar, on the edge of her group of friends. She’s wearing low cut jeans and a t-shirt, gorgeous body and pretty face. He catches her eye and she smiles, ducks her head and beckons him over with every angle of her body.

Dean doesn’t need telling twice.

He makes his way through the crowd and leans against the bar just beside her, makes sure to tilt his head so that if she looks at him, he’ll know about it. It only takes a few minutes or so before she turns to him properly, smiling and sliding into his personal space.

“Hi,” she says, sweet lilt of her voice. Her eyes are grey and her skin tan, and Dean doesn’t want for anything else, this girl is pretty, he keeps telling himself that. “You played a really great show tonight. Your band is really good.”

Dean smirks. “Yeah, well, we’re going places, you know?” She giggles at his arrogance, just like he thought she would, and he takes the opportunity to put a hand on her waist. “I’m Dean, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Lily,” she replies, simpering and leaning in to his touch. She’s total putty in his hands, and Dean’s happy about that, honestly, he is. “So, you gonna buy me a drink?”

Dean raises an eyebrow at her confidence. He always did like that in a woman.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaning in close to put his lips by her ear. She shivers at the contact, eyes fluttering closed, and  _that_  is what Dean wants, that is how he knows that someone wants him. He likes to be wanted. “What’ll be?”

She asks for a beer, and Dean’s impressed. He likes this girl. They get their drinks and separate from her friends, and Dean preens at the way they all look jealous of her. They chat about Dean’s band and her job – she’s a student, studying to become an engineer – and Dean likes her, he really does.

It’s not her fault he’s using her, it’s not her fault Dean’s a shitty enough guy to think that’s ok, especially after his fifth whisky and still no sign of Cas.

They spend an hour, maybe more, just sitting and chatting, and it’s easy company and Dean’s still not sure how far he’s gonna take this. But then she drains her drink, puts a hand on Dean’s thigh and leans in close, right next to his ear.

“My place is close,” she promises, voice low and soft in a way that should get him interested, but doesn’t. She leans back to look him in the eye, licks her lips and smiles. “You wanna come back with me?”

Dean stills. He drops his beer bottle to the table with a soft clinking noise, licks his lips and focuses on Lily. He looks at the way her hair curls at the bottoms, how the tips are lighter than the roots. He thinks about how pretty she is, how available she is. 

He wants her. He does.

“Yeah, ok.”

He gives a one sided grin before standing up, extending his hand and pulling her up, too. He propels her forwards so that their chests bump together and her arms slide around his waist, and she’s smiling up at him and Dean’s smiling down at her. Out of the corner of his eye he catches something, gives it his attention enough to figure out what it is.

Cas. And Victor and Benny standing beside him. The three of them are staring right at Dean, Dean and Lily, how close they are and how obvious it is what’s happening, what’s about to happen. Benny and Vic look murderous, eyes hard and disbelieving, and Cas –

Cas is emotionless. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t bother him to see Dean here, with this girl, her hands on him, his hands on her. It doesn’t bother him that, just this morning, Dean had placed these palms on Cas’ chest, held him down and fucked him slowly, quietly, kissing him and smiling into it. 

Cas doesn’t care about any of that. So neither will Dean.

“You alright?” Lily asks, brow furrowed in concern.

Dean shakes himself out of it and smiles down at her. “Yeah, baby, I’m fine,” he murmurs, leaning down and pressing their lips together gently, speaking the next words into the indent of her mouth. “We’re gonna have a good night.”

He kisses her, then. Properly. Sucks on her tongue and holds her hips and bites her bottom lip.

She doesn’t keen like Cas does. Dean tells himself he’s not disappointed.

He pulls away, smiling, and tugs on her wrist. She starts to lead the way out of the bar, to wherever she lives, and Dean follows. He looks around, just once, before he leaves through the door, to see if Cas is there.

He isn’t. Dean’s victory tastes bitter in his mouth. 

—-

The girl’s place isn’t far, and it isn’t very grand. It’s better than a crappy motel, though, because it’s homely and the sheets aren’t grimy with someone else’s jizz. She pulls him in by the lapels of his jacket the second the door is shut behind them, moves him over to the couch and sits him down in it, straddles his lap and kisses him deeply.

“Whoa, we in a race?” Dean asks, chuckling as her hands slide his jacket off and slip underneath hsi t-shirt. She pulls her own shirt over her head, fits Dean’s hands to the soft curve of her waist. “Slow down, sweetheart.”

She doesn’t, only kisses him harder and grinds in his lap. “You’re so hot,” she murmurs, kissing his jaw and neck and chest. “Was watching you up there, on stage. Wanted you so bad.”

Dean hums, letting her kiss and move him, letting her do anything she wants. Dean’s the kind of guy who likes to be in control, usually, but in situations where he doesn’t really want to be there, he kinda just lets go and goes pliant.

“Yeah, wanted you, too,” Dean responds, and it sounds dead to his own ears. “Had my eye on you the whole time.”

“Yeah?” she asks, grinning, leaning back in for a kiss. “Good to know.”

Her hair tickles Dean’s shoulders, her skin too smooth and too soft beneath Dean’s fingertips. Dean tries not to hold it against her. She kisses him again, slides her tongue into his mouth, and Dean closes his eyes, breathes through his nose, goes through the motions. After a little while, she pulls away, frowning.

“What?” he mumbles, blinking in the darkness, confused as hell.

She continues to frown. “You’re not into this,” she states, and Dean opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. She raises one eyebrow. “Yeah, thought so.” She lifts herself off him, stands up to find her t-shirt and pulls it back on, and turns to look at him again. “Why’d you agree to come home with me if you don’t want this?”

Dean splutters. He knew this girl was smart, college kid and all, but damn if that isn’t coming back to bite him in the ass.

“I do want this!” Lily just crosses her arms across her chest, looks at Dean pointedly until his shoulders sag, defeated. “Alright, alright, so maybe I’m not totally looking to hook up with someone.”

Correction: he’s not looking to hook up with anyone that isn’t Cas, ever.

That thought terrifies him.

“I think you should leave,” she says, and Dean can give her that, at least. He picks up his jacket and walks to the door, walks into the apartment hall and looks back when she coughs pointedly. “Word of advice, man: don’t pick up chicks in bars if you’re not gonna follow through. It makes you kind of an asshole.”

She slams the door in his face, and Dean can only blink, stunned, figuring she kind of had a point.

He stands in the hall, thinking about her and Vic and Benny and – and Cas. He has to go back to the motel, now, to his room that’s sits right next to Cas’. He’s never actually used his room, before, content to share Cas’. He always finds it easier to sleep with someone spooned up behind him, anyway.

He sighs, puts his jacket on, and jumps in a cab to go home. To talk to Cas, because he has to.  _Fuck_  

—-

The motel is dimly lit and Dean’s standing facing the wall space between his room’s door and Cas’ room’s door. His room key is in his hand and a million thoughts are racing through his head. Cas probably won’t want to talk to him, _he_ doesn’t even want to talk to Cas, because that asshole’s in the wrong, too. Dean can feel a headache coming on and this,  _this_  is why he avoids relationships like the plague. They’re messy, and he hates them.

But –

But Cas kisses Dean like it’s all he wants to do in the world. Cas shares Dean’s passions, Dean’s goals, is working right along with him to achieve them, together. Cas’ smile lights up any fucking room he’s in and Dean just wants to kiss him all the time, stop anyone else from being allowed to look at Cas, ever.

He thinks that, maybe, he could want a relationship with Cas.

He sighs loudly, head knocking into the wall when he tips forwards. He’s so far lost in all the pros and cons of either doing the thing he actually wants and telling Cas to be with him properly, or keeping it casual and eventually losing him altogether, that he doesn’t hear the snick of a door opening from behind him.

“You’re an asshole.” Dean whips around, finding Vic leaning against the doorjamb leading to his room, dressed for bed already. They really do make shitty rock stars. Vic is just staring at him, eyebrow raised, and all Dean can do is silently take it. “Was she a good lay, Dean? Good enough to choose over our Cas?”

Dean scowls, scuffing his shoe over the dirty floor. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he mumbles, and likes the fact that Vic’s eyes widen, if only for a second. “I wasn’t into it, she threw me out, end of story. I don’t think I could have gone through with it, anyway.”

“Well, I guess I’m glad to hear that.” Vic lets out a heavy sigh, so put upon, and fixes Dean with another look. “But I will say this: one, you’re an asshole for using some poor girl to make Cas jealous, and two, what the fuck is wrong with you for trying to make Cas jealous in the first place? That guy’s had a crush on you since  _high school_ , Dean. He just tries to play it cool so you don’t think he’s clingy and drop him.”

“Really?” Dean’s trying not to sound hopeful, to  _be_ hopeful, but he’s pretty much failing.

Vic rolls his eyes. “You’re a fucking moron.” He pauses, flicks his eyes to Cas’ door. “Both of you, actually. Now go fucking  _sort it out_  before we have to leave tomorrow, or the drive to the next state is gonna be fucking hell with you two.”

Dean opens his mouth to retort, but finds that Victor just slams the door in Dean’s face. Bastard.

Dean breathes in, slow and sweet, and walks in front of Cas’ door. He raises a fist, ready to knock, and takes one, two, three seconds before he does it, rapping with his knuckles enough times to wake Cas up – dude’s a heavy sleeper.

There’s the sound of Cas inside, crashing into walls in a sleepy daze. Dean bites back a smile as he imagines it, wonders if it’s still allowed to be his place to smile at Cas’ odd little idiosyncrasies. The door opens and Cas speaks before it’s all the way.

“I told you, Vic, Benny, I’m  _fine_.” He stops when the door is open, when his eyes have gone wide as he takes Dean in. He swallows convulsively, hardens his eyes, and grips the door so tight his knuckles turn white. “Oh. It’s you.”

The muscles in Dean’s jaw twitch. “You’re mad at me,” Dean states, and Cas lets out a derisive snort, making Dean scowl. “Alright, yeah, fine, you have the right to be. But, you know what? So do I, Cas. You were shitty, too.”

“Excuse me?” Cas’ voice gets low, sometimes, when he’s angry. It usually only happens when Benny’s getting on his last nerve, or that one time in Idaho when a guy was aggressively hitting on him and Cas had to let this puppy loose. It’s absolutely fucking terrified, especially when tempered with that damn  _glare_ , but Dean sticks his ground, anyway. “You are the one who went home with someone else.  _You_  are the one who chose to find a pretty girl and fucking  _shove your tongue_  down her throat while I watched.”

Dean winces. “Yeah,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it, I’m an asshole. Sorry. But I wouldn’t have done that, if you hadn’t acted like you wouldn’t give a fuck if I did!”

“I don’t,” Cas says, simple, robotic, shutting down again. “You can do whatever you want.”

Dean rolls his eyes, grits his teeth. “Stop it, Cas,” he warns, taking a step closer, crowding Cas up against the nearest wall. “Be mad at me. Shout at me for kissing another girl, I fucking deserve it. But just know that I didn’t sleep with her. She wasn’t you.” He pauses, screws his eyes shut tight so he doesn’t have to see the look of surprise on Cas’ face because of the admission, doesn’t have to feel guilty because of it. “I think you’ve ruined me, actually.”

Cas goes silent, and Dean lets him. Dean keeps his eyes shut tight, breathes in to the same rhythm that Cas does, heavy and laboured, and only comes back to the room when he feels a tentative hand cup his cheek.

“Do you want this?” Cas asks, voice begging for the truth. Dean hesitates and Cas licks his lips, pressing his forehead against Dean’s. “Do you – do you want me? All of me?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, too exhausted with keeping it casual to deny it any longer. “Yeah, Cas. I want this. You. Us.”

Dean raises his eyes to Cas’ face, finds that Cas’ smile is blinding, bright, irresistible. He surges forward and kisses Cas, and this is what was missing, this is what he wants, always. Cas’ hands in his hair and his thigh pressed against Cas’ groin and those pretty little noises he makes. Dean has no idea why he ever thought he could live without them.

“No more girls,” Cas says, panting heavily as he pulls away. 

Dean grins. “No one but you, sweetheart.”

It ends with an important promise.


	5. Chapter 5

It was already too late in the night to get drunk and, seeing as their concert had finished just a few hours ago (the crowd went nuts, even screamed for a couple more songs after the finishing number), Victor and Benny were more than ready to get on the tour bus and just sleep forever. 

Unfortunately, Dean and Cas seemed to have other things in mind.

Just as Benny began drifting off to an exhaustion-induced sleep, he heard a muffled moan coming from the bunk across from his. He knew what it was, or rather, who it was. But he didn’t dare to open his eyes and inspect things because, well, he was afraid that what he might see would scar him for life. 

Another moan, louder, not muffled this time, clearly Cas’s. Benny groaned in protest and shushed him. “Can’t this wait till mornin’ you two?”, he asked, knowing that the other moan was probably coming from Dean, who was most definitely sharing a bed with Cas tonight. Or so it sounded, because he still didn’t dare to look.

“Sorry…”, Cas said, sounding unapologetic and chuckling because it was just then that Dean decided to lick a stripe over his neck with his warm tongue, hands busy undoing the zipper of Cas’s jeans. 

Cas looked down at him from where he was straddling Dean’s lap, and bit back yet another moan as Dean cupped him through his boxers. 

“Dea-“, he began, but was cut off with a gasp when Dean rolled down his boxers and wrapped a hand around his cock. 

Dean chuckled and began stroking Cas slowly, making him let out heavy breaths in an attempt to keep quiet, but it wasn’t really working because whenever he ran his thumb over the head of Cas’s cock, he’d gasp and moan, bite his hand and try to muffle the sounds Dean drove out of him. Cas slapped his hand away and moved down his body, undoing his zipper quickly and pulling his jeans down, smiling up at Dean as he curved his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers. 

“Keep quiet…”, he whispered, pulling Dean’s boxers down and reaching for the bottle of lube under his pillow, moving Dean’s head away and coming back up to kiss him before opening the bottle. 

He poured the liquid onto his fingers and slicked Dean’s cock up, smiling at the sharp intake of breath Dean made in response to his hand moving agonizingly slow, then stopping. 

“C’mon, Cas…”, he said, pulling Cas down for another chaste kiss before he let him go on. 

Cas moved up Dean’s body and hovered above Dean’s hips, his hands on Dean’s chest to keep him stabilized. Dean saw Cas’s hands go behind his back, slipping inside of him quickly before he slipped back out and rested his hand back on Dean’s chest.

“Fuck…”, Cas gasped as the head of Dean’s cock aligned with his hole.

His breath hitched when Dean’s hips shifted up and he pressed in further, letting Cas get used to the feeling. 

Cas smiled and sank down all the way, leaning down to kiss Dean before he raised his hips and Dean’s cock almost pulled out completely, and then sank down harder, making Dean moan and turn his head to muffle his sounds in the pillow. 

They set up a solid pace, Cas’s things slapping against Dean’s loudly, drowned out only by the sound of Victor and Benny’s snoring. Good, at least they’re asleep and won’t bother them anymore. 

Cas’s fingernails trailed along Dean’s chest as he sank down and came back up, and over again, making a series of breathy sounds of  _Dean, Dean, Dean,_  his head falling back when Dean’s cock hit his prostate, almost on the edge. By the way Dean was moaning his name rather loudly into the pillow, he knew he must be close too.

“Fuck, Cas…”, Dean bit his lower lip, hands gripping Cas’s hips so tight he knew there would be marks for him to adore for a few days. 

Their pace quickened and soon they were reduced to gasps, moans and incoherent sounds. Cas sucked marks into Dean’s neck, Dean’s hands pulling at his hair and Cas’s breath hot against his skin. Dean moved his head and kissed Cas messily, hot and long, hips slamming up into Cas in a rough rhythm.

“Dean…”, he gasped when Dean hit that spot, making him shudder, “I’m close…”, he moved in time with Dean’s thrusts.

“Come on, baby…”, Dean tugged a hand through Cas’s hair and pulled him down, kissing his jaw and mouth.

Cas trembled, his pace faltering slightly, eyes squeezing shut and mouthing Dean’s name as he came in white spurts over Dean’s chest and stomach. Dean kept moving, stopping completely when he felt Cas clench around his cock, coming inside of Cas and biting his lip to keep himself from screaming.

Cas fell on top of Dean and smiled into the skin of his shoulder, rolling over and onto his side and turning to face Dean with a sated smile on his face.

“You two are fucking morons.”, Benny said in a sleepy tone.

Dean chuckled loudly. He yawned, and so did Cas, and, well, at least someone was gonna get some sleep tonight.


	6. Chapter 6

When he wakes up, Dean really wishes it wasn’t midday on a Thursday.

He’s hungover to hell and back and feels like he’s taken an axe to the skull, not mention various aches and pains in every major muscle in his body, but at least he’s in Cas’ bed.

His  _bed_. Because apparently that’s a thing they do now. They’re no longer limited to rutting on the couch in Dean’s basement, or blowjobs in dirty bathroom stalls, or quick fucks on dressing room tables. Now they allow themselves an actual bedroom with a thick mattress and cotton sheets and fluffed pillows. 

After last night’s show they’d all gone out for a few drinks at a bar down the street, which inevitably turned into a lot of drinks at lot more bars. They cleared out at some crazy hour of the morning, after Cas had gotten up on the bar to sing along to the jukebox and Benny somehow managed to remove a sink from the bathroom wall. That’s about all that Dean remembers - along with the clumsy, energetic sex he and Cas had once they stumbled inside. 

And Dean is feeling the after-effects now: the ringing in his ears, heavy eyelids, and dried come on his stomach from passing out on top of Cas. But it doesn’t matter, not really; because there’s sunlight seeping in through the blinds and Cas is curled into his chest and breathing quietly.

So it’s understandable that Dean wishes this were a Sunday morning, or any other time when he doesn’t have to drag his ass out of bed and get to work. Why would he want to be serving coffee and muffins all afternoon when he’s got Cas right here, a solid weight in his arms as he shifts to press closer. Dean runs a hand down Cas’ back and kisses his forehead through a mess of hair. Which is definitely not sentimental. At all. 

Dean is about to pull away and get up, but Cas grabs his arm and wraps it back around himself without even bothering to open his eyes. A affectionate smile finds its way to Dean’s lips as he watches Cas squeeze his eyes shut tighter, clearly trying to fight the light of the room and go back to sleep. 

“Cas,” Dean whines, “I have to go to work now.” 

“Call in sick,” he mumbles against Dean’s skin, and he chuckles at Cas’ groggy voice. 

“This isn’t high school, I can’t just ditch when I don’t feel like going.”

“Wouldn’t know, I never skipped class.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and squeezes his arm tighter around Cas’ waist. “ _Of course_  you didn’t,” he teases, but there’s an easy fondness in his tone that has Cas’ teeth nipping at his collarbone. “But not all of us get to work cushy jobs at the library with flexible hours.” 

Dean feels Cas’ smile more than he sees it, and it almost keeps him from getting up.  _Almost_ , but not quite. The thought of Benny - or worse, his boss - calling up to scold his tardiness is enough to get him shifting gears. He waits until he thinks Cas has dozed off again before he slips away, crossing the room to the dresser on the opposite wall. He snags a pair of Cas’ clean underwear from the drawer, because Dean assumes that he’s entitled to hygiene privileges after all the things Cas has let him do to him. 

Dean is just stepping into his jeans and fastening the buttons when he realises Cas is awake again. He’s propped up on his elbows and squinting at Dean with sleepy eyes and hair sticking out at all angles. He’s pouting his lips ever so slightly, watching as Dean comes near him to grab his shirt from the floor by the bed.

“Just get back into bed already,” Cas grumbles, and the order would be so hot if it weren’t for how damn adorable Cas looks like that. He reaches out and latches onto Dean’s belt buckle, before he yanks him down to the mattress. 

Dean sighs dramatically and shakes his head. “Quit it.” 

Only Cas does the opposite, his fingers slowly sliding upwards against Dean’s stomach, coming to rest just above his navel before dipping back down again. He has his lip between his teeth as he mimics Dean, shaking his head slowly. 

There’s a loud voice in the back of Dean’s head that tells him to forget work and slot between Cas’ limbs again instead. Except he really does need this job, otherwise he’ll end up sleeping on Victor’s scratchy couch again until the band picks up. So he tells himself,  _no more than some brief making out, keep your hands to yourself, Winchester._

Clearly, Dean forgets that Cas’ hands are capable of just as much mischief, demonstrated by the way he’s touching Dean  _everywhere_. His palms rubbing across every surface he can reach, fingertips stroking over his neck, then shoulders, and then a nipple. Dean sits down on the bed properly and twists around to meet Cas’ mouth, his lips dry and chapped and jaw roughened by stubble. 

Cas pulls back slightly. “You have hangover breath.” 

Dean whacks him on the arm and frowns. “You’re no bed of roses either.” 

So okay, they’re both pretty gross, and Dean can live with that for now. It’s a minor inconvenience compared to Cas’ hot hands on his chest, pulling at his shoulders as he kisses Dean lazily with pliant lips and a content hum. 

Quite frankly, Dean is scared by how easy and naturally this comes. To wake up with Cas and push his fingers through his hair. To close his eyes and kiss Cas, the flutter of his eyelashes across his own cheek, a warm buzz rising through his bones. It’s scary because this doesn’t seem like Just Fucking. Is there a difference between Just Fucking and Friends With Benefits? He hopes so, because the idea of this becoming  _more_ , he can’t even entertain it. There are so many variables, too many ways for it to end up in flames.

In his fleeting fear, Dean’s lips have stilled against Cas’. And maybe there’s a hint in the way Cas lets him breathe shakily into his mouth. His fingers are on Dean’s jaw, then cupping his cheek as Dean moves into the touch. 

“Stay.” 

Dean wants to. 

 _Fuck_ , does he want to. He wants to lick into Cas’ mouth until he’s boneless and needy, legs parted for Dean to rest between. He wants to fuck Cas into the mattress at an achingly slow pace, have him choking out half-sobs and whimpering, stretching out the kinks of last night like a cat. He wants to hold Cas against his chest and go back to sleep. He wants to be held against Cas’ chest, secure and comforted under his soft kisses and contrastingly strong hands. 

But he can’t. That’s a whole can of worms he doesn’t need to pop the lid on right now. 

So he answers with a bite and tug on Cas’ bottom lip, before he pulls away and stands up again.

Dean takes a moment to stare openly at Cas. He could write songs about this. How Cas is laid out before him, sheets twisted around his hips to expose a litany of angry red marks marring his skin. He would need an entire verse to convey the rush he feels when Cas wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. Another verse for the faint bruises on his wrists. A refrain about the clearness of his eyes in the morning light. Chorus dedicated to the dirty mouth Dean gave him, and the dirtier things he loves to hear. It’s a song that would sit ignored, crumpled at the back of his top drawer and at home with all the other lyrics that are too embarrassing to acknowledge. 

Cas is staring back at him, and it reminds Dean that he needs to start moving. He picks his shirt up again and sniffs it. Cas snorts when Dean gags and tosses it across the room. “I can’t go to work smelling like a homeless musician with a drinking problem.” 

He feels oddly accomplished at the small upturn of lips Cas gives him. 

“Can I borrow something?” 

“Yes.” 

It’s only fair. Cas has a whole collection of Dean’s clothes. T-shirts from sophomore year, faded hoodies from his college years, the jeans he wore to his first concert. It’s disgustingly endearing, and usually leaves Dean wanting to fuck him senseless. 

The thing about Cas though, is that he has an interesting mix of everything. Music taste, DVDs, books, and clothes. He shows up in those fucking leather pants one day, and then wears a wonky bow tie and pie-themed socks the next. So when Dean picks up the first thing he sees he doesn’t give it a second thought, because Cas is pretty good as distracting him with filthy kisses and edging the sheets further down his body. 

It’s only when he finally gets to the coffee shop and sees Benny behind the counter, that he realises his error. And apparently it’s enough for Benny to spill milk all over his hand. 

“What is  _that_?” He asks, eyes disbelieving and a laugh hiding in the back of his throat. 

Dean looks down at Cas’ knitted fair isle sweater and chokes on his own spit. It’s soft and comfy as hell, but definitely not something Benny has ever seen him wear. Or any other human being, for that matter. 

“ _Nothing_.”

Benny doesn’t comment on the defensive nature of his snap, but he does give him the stink-eye for the next hour.

Dean finds himself resenting the fact that business is extremely slow today, because all he can think about is what he could be doing with Cas in bed right now. What he really  _needs_  is a busy rush of customers all in a hurry to keep his mind off it, and what he definitely doesn’t expect is Cas stepping through the door instead. 

There’s no line, and Cas strolls up to the counter looking freshly showered and dressed. Dean makes no effort to hide his bright grin, and is leaning over the countertop before he can stop himself.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, as if a guy can’t go for coffee at the place a block away from his apartment. 

He hopes he’s not imagining the pink flush on Cas’ cheeks. 

“I thought I’d drop by before my shift starts.”

Benny hasn’t said a word, is just standing next to Dean and watching the exchange with curiosity as he wipes down trays.

“So, uh, you want tea?” Dean asks, and it’s embarrassing that he knows Cas would rather drink tea than coffee in the afternoon. Benny’s hand slows, and he’s definitely listening intently now. 

If Cas notices anything weird he doesn’t mention it, only nods and rests his elbows on the counter. “Something fruity. You choose.” 

Dean goes to the display where they keep all the fancy teabags, and picks up the new raspberry and jasmine one they just ordered in. He vaguely hears Cas and Benny talking while he brews it, and he expects Cas to hang around once he hands his mug over, but he goes to sit at a small table instead.

This is when Benny turns on him, a fire in his eyes that Dean is one hundred per cent worried about. He’s just glad Victor isn’t here to feed off whatever’s fuelling Benny, because together they are a terrifying pair. 

“So, what’d you do after you put me in that cab last night?” Benny asks, all false innocence and nonchalance. 

“I just, uh, hung out with Cas for a while.

Benny waits a beat, then comes right out with it. “Did you  _fuck_  Cas?” 

Dean knows his face and ears are burning up at an alarming rate, but his mouth hangs open like a fish and he’s not sure what to say to wriggle himself out of it. All the same, his silence serves as a confirmation for Benny. 

“Are you guys  _dating_?” He presses, and clearly that seems to be a worse offence than the first.

“No!” Dean splutters, because they’re not. They’re  _not_.

“I can’t believe you slept with the singer of our band - you are shameless, I don’t even know how you live with yourself, bro.” Benny scrunches his face up and peers back at Cas, then Dean again.

“Look, there’s nothing messy about this, it’s totally fine!” Dean says, finally remembering how to formulate actual words. 

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure you’re practically married already, and you don’t even know it.”

Benny moves away to greet a customer with an easy smile, leaving Dean planted to the floor and possibly more confused than he’s ever been in his life.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're on your first real tour inside a rusty and cramped van, it would be a crime _not_ to hotbox it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vicky here! (between2devils on tumblr). sorry it's been so long since anybody updated, i've actually got a ton of prompts for this verse and i've had this part half written since march whoops. but my exams are all done so hopefully i'll write some more much sooner ;u;
> 
> warning for drug use (shotgunning and hotboxing) and drug fuelled orgasms.

This is not the biggest risk Dean is asking Cas to take. Not by a long shot. 

This is nothing compared to the day when Dean told Cas to quit his job because they were going on the road. This pales against Dean asking Cas to uproot from where he’s always been, leave the life he’s always had, so that the four of them could cross the country in a rusty van with a too-small trailer. 

They’ve just finished up talking to the fans who stayed after the show, and all the equipment is already packed away into the trailer. Benny and Victor have gone with a couple of college girls to get drinks at some bar down the street, and it’s just Dean and Cas now. 

Their hotel isn’t close enough for them to go back without Benny and Victor, but Dean knows Cas hasn’t gone out because he would have asked him to come too. This means he must be in the van – probably lying in the back with a book in one hand and a flashlight in the other. 

The van isn’t exactly anything special, just something Benny’s dad let them swipe. It definitely makes things more interesting, driving state-to-state with all of them crammed inside this one vehicle. Or more dangerous, that’s probably more accurate judging by the amount of times they’ve had to pull over because of physical fights breaking out. And even though it smells like sweat and farts and fast food, it’s actually still better than most of the cheap hotels they sleep in, and it’s home for the next two months. 

As expected, he finds Cas amid a nest of blankets and spare pillows, his back resting against the spare amp. Dean is almost right about the rest too; Cas has a notebook in his lap and the flashlight balanced between his chin and shoulder as he writes. He looks up at the sound of Dean pulling the back door open, a pen lid pressed between his lips and a pink blush creeping across his cheeks. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, climbing inside and slamming the door behind him.

“Nothing.” 

“Really?” 

Dean throws himself down next to Cas and tries to peer into the notebook, but Cas just flips it shut and shoves it in his jacket pocket. 

“It’s not finished yet,” he mumbles, and looks over at Dean sheepishly. 

Cas doesn’t write songs that often – well; he doesn’t _share_ them often – but when he does, they’re the kind of beautiful that sends shivers down your spine. And the last one had Dean’s ears burning red from seeing messy scrawls of Cas’ handwriting describe the way Dean’s touches make him feel, how Dean is the first to make him feel that alive. 

Yeah, that was a fun practice. Benny and Victor were making kissy faces at Dean for _days_ afterwards. 

“Is it another declaration of love to me?” Dean asks, because he just can’t resist teasing Cas if it means he’ll get to see that adorable little scowl of his. 

All he gets is Cas shining the flashlight directly at his face to blind him as he tells Dean to shut the fuck up. Dean groans and bats it away, shuffling a little closer to Cas anyway. He digs around blindly in his pockets, Cas being no help at all with the flashlight pointing at his shoes.

“You wanna do something fun while everyone’s out hooking up?” Dean asks, because even the band they’re supporting is busy getting trashed. Cas nods slowly, as if he’s waiting for the catch at the other end, or for some crude comment that will do anything _but_ get Dean laid. 

Dean holds up the baggy that he’s pulled out from his pocket, and shakes it in front of Cas’ face when he doesn’t get a response. 

“Come on, how ‘bout it?” Cas shines the flashlight at the baggy, finding the two joints that are sitting at the bottom of it. He looks at Dean, eyebrows drawing together. 

“You don’t smoke.” 

“Don’t I?” Dean just grins and wiggles his eyebrows a little, because there are still a few things that Cas doesn’t know about him. And of course Cas doesn’t think he smokes, because he was always careful about where he and Ash would go to sneak cigarettes when they cut class, even more meticulous about it when they were smoking up.

“Oh.” 

Cas doesn’t look upset, just a little bemused, as if the information is still piecing together in his mind. Dean wonders if Cas is now trying to work out the times he might have unwittingly seen Dean stoned; maybe he’d walked into French class one day with a dopey smile and tired eyes, sinking into his seat with a little too much joy. 

Dean rolls his eyes and snatches the flashlight from Cas’ hand, tossing it aside somewhere before he can think better of it. They’re illuminated in nothing but the orange glow of the streetlamps outside now, one side of Cas’ face veiled in shadow as he waits for Dean to say something else. 

“These are the perks of being a rock star – do you even know what people would do for free pot?” They haven’t exactly reached the stage where they’re offered free drugs just for being a band, but it’s not as if Dean had to pay for it out of his own pocket and seek out the nearest dealer – the things girls will do in exchange for an autograph on their chest and a free CD. 

Cas shrugs, but he leans in closer and watches as Dean pulls out the first joint, bringing it to his mouth. He stares a little, and Dean knows he’s already won this one. 

“So?” He asks around the roach, just for good measure. Cas licks his lips and nods, his stare fixed even as Dean flips a zippo open.

Dean gets it burning evenly, flicks away the ash of the twisted end, and takes a long drag for Cas to watch. He lets the smoke fill up his mouth, pulling it down his throat until his lungs are stuffed full with the same warm, heady, air. When he exhales, the smoke billows out into the space, curving around the inside of the van until it thins out. 

Cas is still raptly watching and almost doesn’t see Dean holding the joint out to him between his thumb and index finger, anticipation brewing beneath his features. Cas inhales too much; Dean can tell from the way his cheeks start to hollow out, and Dean sees the cough rising in his chest before he hears it. 

“Whoa, slow down cowboy.” Dean plucks the spliff from Cas’ fingers and gives him a solid smack on the back, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he wheezes for oxygen. Dean takes another couple of tokes as Cas’ breathing adjusts, savours the hot sweetness of it in his mouth and stares at the glowing tip, orange and red and hissing in the silence with every drag. “You okay?” 

Cas clears his throat once more, cheeks burning a bright pink with both embarrassment and exertion. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Pass it.” 

It’s not funny but Dean laughs anyway. He hands the joint over, watching carefully this time as Cas slips it between his lips, unable to look away. Cas breathes it in just fine this time, but he’s still not inhaling right. 

“You gotta hold it in,” Dean says, Cas exhaling enough smoke to cloud the van considerably. 

“What?” 

“Hold it, like, in your chest.” It’s been too long and his head is already foggy and too liquid to hang onto a straight thought with any finesse. Cas still looks confused though, and they’ll only get a few more tokes from the joint before it burns out. 

Dean thinks he’s swaying a little, but he crawls over to straddle Cas’ lap and snatches the joint back from him. Cas is still slouched back against the amp, looking at up Dean intently as he burns down to the roach with his last drag, and Dean’s got a mouth full of smoke as he pulls Cas forwards by the front of his shirt. The roach is stubbed out and abandoned somewhere when Dean brings a hand to Cas’ jaw, gently prying it open until Cas’ lips have formed a round little ‘O’ shape. 

Cas gasps when Dean ghosts his own lips against them, and the sharp intake of air pulls the smoke that’s passing between their mouths right into his lungs. They stay like that until Dean pulls away, unclenching his fist from the fabric of Cas’ shirt so that he falls back with a thud. 

“I like it better that way,” Cas says, and his voice is rough from either the smoke or that tease of an almost-kiss. Dean feels a stir of warmth in his stomach, begging to be paid attention to. 

“Yeah?” Cas nods, so Dean reaches over for the other joint, his hand scrabbling blindly in the dark.  

They go on like that for a while, Dean sealing his mouth over Cas’ as he empties smoke into it, Cas obediently sucking every last wisp down until his pupils are huge and his head is wobbling backwards and forwards. Dean’s about to take a toke for himself, but Cas is quick in swiping the spliff from his mouth. 

Cas keeps his eyes trained on Dean as he takes a long drag, then he’s yanking Dean with a hand on the back of his neck and he kisses him. It’s about a hundred times hotter than before, when it’s not just smoke curling between their mouths but Cas’ tongue too. It’s slow and tantalising, the lazy movement of their lips as the smoke passes back and forth, tongues touching and drawing back with a filthy kind of ease. Dean doesn’t even realise he’s rolling his hips into Cas, trying to get any kind of friction through his too-tight jeans, until Cas’ hand is at the small of his back and pushing him down harder. 

When they pull apart for oxygen, Dean is acutely aware that he isn’t breathing in fresh air. The back of the van is thickly misted in excess smoke and Dean blinks as he tries to get accustomed to his clouded view. It’s only added to though, Cas sucking out another drag, joint pinched between his lips as he runs his hands up Dean’s thighs.

Dean takes the joint from him, squeezes out one last hit, and mashes their mouths together with a desperation that wasn’t there before. He’s grinding his ass down into Cas, and it’s a testament to just how turned on Cas is that his hard-on manages to defy those skinny jeans. Dean’s fingers wrangle with the buttons on Cas’ oversized shirt from some ratty thrift store, and he’s pushing the sides apart to dig his fingers into hot flesh, holding him down with a grip that is bound to leave a few bruises. 

Cas’ moans empty into Dean’s mouth, pushing out smoke with them, and Dean’s head is a total wonderland with the walls of the van spinning and his thought processes too slow to do anything but keep rutting against Cas and lick every trace of pot from his mouth. Dean’s head falls to Cas’ shoulder and he repositions himself, one hand latching onto Cas’ hair and the other bracing him against his chest as he noses Cas’ shirt collar out the way to mouth at the skin, all teeth and tongue and lips.

Dean tries to time each roll of his hips with a bite of soft skin, and Cas’ breathing is shallow and broken up by low groans as his neck and shoulder become a painted canvas. Dean knows when he comes; there’s a pair of hands squeezing just below his waistband and a choked off sound from Cas as he ruins his underwear, head tipped back and eyes still only half-closed. 

“You looked good tonight,” Dean says, and his voice feels distant and disconnected from his body. “Your mouth, and your hips…” 

Cas’ hands are at his sides again; rucking up his t-shirt until it’s bunched under his armpits, cool air hitting the sheen of sweat on his skin. 

“I should have kissed you,” Dean whispers, his mouth taking on a mind of its own. 

Cas chuckles, and it’s a low rumbling thing that sinks into Dean’s bones. “Mm, you did. In the last song.” And Cas’ fingers are working at the button of Dean’s jeans before easing the zipper down. 

Dean can vaguely recall their set, which actually has to be an achievement given it was only three hours ago. But that’s not what he means, and he can’t find the right words, not with smoke still filling his nostrils and parted lips, or Cas pulling his cock out from his underwear. 

“No, no, I mean—” Dean’s words die in his throat as Cas’ fingers wrap around him with a lazy and loose grip that’s about to drive him crazy. “Should’ve kissed you properly.” It had only been a quick press of lips to catch Cas off-guard, lasting no more than a second. 

“You mean like this?” Cas asks, catching Dean’s mouth in a languid slide of tongue and swollen lips. When Cas coordinates little bites with a twist of his wrist, Dean is thankful that his almost desperate moans are muffled between them. Cas pulls back with a small smirk, his cheeks still tinted pink. “I don’t think public indecency is the kind of press we’re looking for.” 

“Maybe you should stop—stop being such a tease,” Dean pants, and he knows he’s going to regret saying it before he’s even finished speaking. And he does, because Cas looks up at him from under his eyelashes, his pupils huge and eyes red-rimmed. Cas stopped being innocent quite some time ago – there have been many interesting bruises and stains to testify that – but it doesn’t mean Cas won’t still pretend. If Dean thought Cas as a naïve, eager to please, virgin was bad – he hadn’t taken into account that it could only get worse. 

“I think you like it,” Cas whispers, voice low and honeyed before he chews on his lip a little, as if deciding what he can get away with next.

Dean doesn’t even have time to pick his brain up from the floor to make a snarky comeback, because Cas is spitting into his palm, eyes locked on Dean when he starts to jack him off quicker, and it all feels _so fucking good_ with that extra bit of slick, and Cas shouldn’t have Dean feeling like he’s about to pass out or die but he does, and everything is too hot and too humid and Dean’s head is spinning. 

“I think you like being the only one to see me come undone,” Cas continues, his mouth at Dean’s ear as his head falls forwards to mash into the curve of Cas’ neck. “Shaking, begging—it’s only you. Just us.” 

Dean’s teeth sink into Cas’ shoulder as a shudder wracks his body, Cas’ thumb circling the head of his cock carefully, rubbing over the slit as his lips brush against the lobe of Dean’s ear, obscene confessions being swept away into the haze surrounding them. 

“Oh god—fuck—you’re the _worst_ ,” Dean gasps, promptly followed by his toes curling inside of his boots and his hands squeezing impossibly harder at Cas’ sides as he comes. He’s made a real mess of Cas’ chest, probably caught the edges of his shirt too, but he doesn’t waste a second thinking about it as he slumps against Cas and catches his breath. 

They stay like that for a while, Dean sliding down to sit between Cas’ thighs so that their legs wind up around each other. Cas’ head is tipped back against the amp, his neck exposed and showing off a whole selection of reddening marks. 

Dean is happy to fall asleep right here, amid the mismatched cushions and heap of blankets that Cas bought at some market stall one Sunday. It would probably be more comfortable then trying to sleep in the backseat, especially since Benny and Victor could be out all night – probably at the shared apartment of those college girls. 

As it turns out, they’re not. 

Cas jumps when the back doors swing open, and both of them squint against the light that floods into the van as smoke pours out and curls into the air outside. Benny and Victor stand there for a moment, hands still frozen on the doors and the keys dangling from Victor’s index finger as they stare. 

“Fucking Christ,” Benny says eventually, rolling his eyes as he shakes his head in exasperation, about the same time that Victor’s eyes widen and he screeches, _“Is no place sacred? Do you have to fuck in every goddamn crevice?”_  

“Victor, are you okay?” Cas mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hands, and Benny’s chuckling overpowers the string of curses that are still leaving Victor’s mouth.

“Winchester please put your dick away. I literally cannot look you in the face right now.” Victor has his forearm across his eyes and he even turns around, just for good measure. “We’re going back to the hotel – Dean, you’re riding up front with me, Cas in the backseat with Benny. If you have to be separated until you have control over your libidos, then so be it.”

Victor sighs dramatically and goes around to climb in the driver’s seat, probably sulking even more than Sam would in this situation. Benny just perches on the edge of the van though, waiting for Cas to button up his shirt and extract himself from Dean’s octopus limbs. 

“I can’t believe you hotboxed without us, that is so not cool.” 

Cas hops out of the van, using the top of Benny’s head to balance his jump. “Okay, so next time we’ll have an orgy?” Dean’s laugh is more of a snort when Benny elbows Cas and almost sends him flying, but Cas has been laughing the whole time and doesn’t sound like he’s going to stop anytime soon. 

Benny grabs a hold of Cas’ collar and drags him back towards the side of the van.  “Just get in the back, horndog.” 

“Don’t be jealous, Benny,” Cas says as he clutches at his stomach, and his laughter dies away as the door shuts, leaving Dean in his own fit of amusement.


End file.
